Winds esker               
  
                                          
 There Was This Place That  For Two Years 
 I Couldn'T  Go To.  Regardless How  Much 
 Discussed With  Others,  Or Pointed  Out 
 On Maps,  I Could Not  Think Of  It When 
 Alone. I  Would  Often Travel  Past  The 
 Fork, Where A Right  Turn  Would  Surely 
 Take Me  There, But Even Then, Something 
              Kept Me Away.               
                                          
 When  I  Finally Got There,  After  Some 
     Heavy Subconscious Battle I Must     
 Assume,  The   Place   Was  Surreal.  An 
 Esker,  Like  A  Needle-Thin Rift Out In 
 The  Lake,   But  Ten  Meters  High  And 
 Adorned In Birch, Willow,  Bracken,  And 
               Blueberries.               
                                          
 Walking  Atop  That  Spine,  I  Came  To 
 Notice  The View To  Either Side.  There 
 Should  Be  Shores,  Of  Course,  But  I 
 Didn'T  Recognize Them. First  Off, They 
 Were Much Too  Close, As The Lake Should 
 Stretch  For  A Hundred  Meters  More On 
 Both  Sides.  But  Now I  Felt  I  Could 
 Almost Reach  Out  And  Touch  Them. And 
 Then, When I Realized  Which Shores They 
           Were, I Had To Stop.           
                                          
 They  Were Of  The Right Lake.  But This 
      Lake Is Large, Fractured, And       
 Bipartite.  Like A  Pair Of Lungs Carved 
 Into The Granite, And With No Less  Than 
   Five Communities Anchored At Various   
      Points. And So, Studying These      
     Impossibly Close Shores, I Slowly    
 Understood Them  As Belonging Many Miles 
                   Away.                  
                                          
 I   Examined  The  Ridge,  The  Treeline 
 Above. Was  This What You Saw  Opposite, 
 From  Those  Other  Shores?  I  Couldn'T 
                Remember.                 
                                          
 Carrying  Forward,  On  The Very Tip  Of 
 The  Esker, I  Found  The  Ruins Of Some 
    Old Building. There Were Overgrown    
 Marble Staircases, Stone Floors Beneath  
 The  Moss,  And  Strange  Slabs Inserted 
 Into  The Slope  Like  Dams  Against The 
              Ground Itself.              
                                          
 Sitting  There, I  Could See Across  The 
 Narrowed Lake My Entire Path  To Where I 
 Sat:  From  The Stairwell  Of  My House, 
 Through The  Old  Woods Behind  The Tile 
      Factory, The Bridge Over Route      
 Twenty three  And  Then  Back Under  It, 
 Through  The   Fancy  Villas,  Over  The 
 Fields, And Then  That Right Turn At The 
                  Fork.                   
                                          
 And  Then The  Stairs  Up  On The Ridge. 
 Thinking  Back,  This  Was Probably  It. 
 Hidden  In  A  Grove,  There Were Stairs 
 Much Like  The Ones I  Currently Sat On, 
 Old  And  Worn  Down, That  Lead  You Up 
 Onto The Esker. The  Point Of Entry. Had 
 I Insted  Opted  To Walk The Path At Its 
 Foot,  I'M  Sure My Experience  Would'Ve 
          Been Different Indeed.          
                                          
  
                                          
 On  The  Lake,   There  Were  People  In 
 Boats. I Wondered,  Could They Even  See 
 Me? If I  Shouted,  Would They  Turn  To 
          Stare Right Through Me?